Enough
by Author Gal
Summary: Not matter what I have done, it has never been enough to break him - until tonight. (Draco POV, one shot.)


**Enough **

Nighttime.

It's completely dark. No moon, no stars, no form of light of any kind.

I crave it.

Not for any sentimental reasons, mind you. Unlike some I am no fool with fancy thoughts of complete enclosure or passionate love, though the night does provide a discreet blanket for inappropriate affairs. No, I crave the night because it is quiet and empty and I can think without sniveling crawlers pressing me for every thought I have, like leeches desperate for a feed.

And, as usual, tonight my thoughts wander. I reflect over what I did this day, analysing every move I made and every word I said. Questioning every action, gauging every reaction, and like every other day I wonder: was it enough? I can have no doubt that I did plenty today, I have furthered the Greater Cause as well as my own, and I have learnt many secrets that my Master will be pleased to hear. He has been encouraging me in this movement for many months now, guiding my actions and preparing my mind. He will be pleased with what I have done, I do not think he expected such results so soon.

I think about my Master for a few moments. He has a great mind and an even greater plan for our world. He can see the worth of a man in an instant, and he can sense fear like it was a ripe smell clinging to a person. My Master can promise a man riches, force him to cut off his own hand, give him naught in return and make him believe that he owns the world. My Master can let a betrayer remain in a privileged position within his ranks, lead him into a false sense of security until he is eating from the palm of his hand, and then close his fist and crush the traitor. My Master is the greatest man to walk the earth with the power to destroy everyone in it.

My Master was defeated by a one-year-old child.

Which brings about an interesting thought. How will Potter react when he finds out what I did tonight? Probably the same time he reacts every time I win: he'll rant, curse, rampage, cry and lose his composure, trying to hurt me as I have hurt him. But this is something he cannot accomplish because I cannot be hurt. I have no friends he can torture, no family he can reduce in worth with mere words. I have no flaws he can see, and he has too much honour to kill me. I defeated him long ago.

Any yet I too have been defeated, I recall, my mouth twisting into a wry smile at the irony. Not by the Golden Boy, mind you, but by someone much closer to me. A Parkinson, to be specific, adding to the irony of it all. I spend every trip to King's Cross Station making promises to watch over her, and every year she keeps control over me. She keeps my emotions in check, forces me to see things that I cannot. She makes me tell her the truth, without blemish or exaggeration.

In turn, I protect her. When she is vulnerable, I divert the attention until she can rebuild her façade once more. When she feels weak, I pull her to her feet and hold her up, wrapping my arm around her for strength. We are not a team, per se, but we do keep an eye out for each other. I have no doubt that in years to come we will be permanently a couple.

I suppose, then, that it will be her who I have hurt the most tonight. She is the one who is the most attached to me, and who I am the most dependant on. Yet by my actions tonight I have broken an unwritten treaty between us; the other person comes before all others. No matter what happens, I look out for Pansy's interests right after my own. Tonight I failed. But Parkinson is strong, I won't have broken her.

There is another I can't defeat, I muse as I lie still, trying not to wake anyone. He always seemed like an easy target, like I could bring him to his knees with one blow. I was so sure of his weakness that I very rarely used to try, and when I did defeat him I would congratulate myself on ruining his face, making him rant and rave. I took his reaction as a sign of his breaking, and it took me a long time to realise one crucial fact.

Weasley never remained broken.

He continued to fight. Rather than avoiding me or ignoring me, he would set himself up for a fall, looking for a battle. I crowed in my luck and superiority: here was an enemy who _wanted_ to be destroyed. And so for years it went on, I blissfully scorned him and his family and made him look like a fool in front of his peers. It wasn't until the end of sixth year that I first began to realise what he was doing. It was Parkinson that first alerted me to it: "Be careful, he's not as stupid at you think." She had snapped one night as I was celebrating my victory, her green eyes flashing dangerously. I ignored her, and continued in my glory.

The next time I went to humiliate him, I was the one to slink away.

I couldn't believe it at the time. He had won! For the first time in six years he had verbally humiliated me, his voice mocking and his face calm. I had no idea how to respond to him, so I stood there, dumbfounded. The crowd had burst into applause, but he paid them no heed, and I ran away.

All my years of humiliating him hadn't been enough.

The next day I went to fight him again, and once more I came out the weaker. When I went into the common room that night Pansy flashed me a look of sympathy mixed with triumph, the pride of being right.

It took me a month to realise what he had done. He sought out fights with me to study me, to see how I battled, to try new comebacks and see how I reacted. He discovered what provoked me, what had no effect. Unlike Potter he knew when to retreat, when to try new ideas, and this made him far more dangerous.

Our fights became spectator sports and the crowd would cheer as he defeated me time and time again. He became more popular than Potter, everyone knew him and believed in him. He was strong, he was calm. He was unbroken.

So I changed my tactic. Rather than fight him, I fought the Weaselette, some days verbally, a few times physically, but insistantly. She isn't like her brother, in fact she is too much like Potter for her own good.

"_Shut up, Malfoy." "Leave me alone, Malfoy. "Go away, Malfoy!" "Ron, help!"_

It worked the first few times, he would come crashing down the hall to her defense in a rage, and I would win again. Yet he seemed to understand my plan, and one day he refused to help her. Why did he do that? I could see it pained him and yet he just stood back. Again, it was Parkinson who told me. "He's teaching her to fight for herself. Don't give her the chance to learn how!" I listened to her this time, and stopped my attacks on the Weaselette.

It hadn't been enough.

Again and again I changed my plans. I publicly humiliated him by tripping him, pranking him, but he just laughed with everyone else. I sabotaged his work until I discovered that he made copies. I ransacked his house, destroyed his family, ruined his friendships, but for all my effort it was never enough.

I am a Malfoy, twelve generations of Pureblood's, no squibs, only blood traitors. I have had the best education possible, extra tuition every holidays. I have been raised to know how to cut a man to shreds with my tongue, how to destroy a Mudblood, how to behave around my Master. I have killed many, I have ruined countless thousands. And yet, not matter how I tried I could not break a stupid Weasley! I could not do enough.

It took me a long time to find a way to break him, but this time I am almost sure I have succeeded. I have changed my tactic. I watched him. I found his weakness.

It has taken me time and careful planning to befriend her, to earn her trust. For a whole year I have gradually worked her until she was trusting and malleable in my hands. And every day, I watched the pain in him grow, I saw him come a little closer to breaking. Yet every time I thought I had him he would hold himself upright and stare at me with disgusts. He knew what I was doing and he hated me for it.

And now, as I glance nonchantly at the naked Mudblood whore snoring pathetically beside me, I smirk.

I think that this time, it will be enough.

* * *

**A/N: JKR owns it all, except I doubt she will be as mean to Hermione as I am. Please review, it makes our day. This story is dedicated to the people who reviewed "Perhaps She Hates Me", because there were many of them and they were all lovely! Thank you guys.**


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